Harley and Ivy Drabbles
by Cold Nostalgia
Summary: Collection of very short fics. Some slash, some gen. Genres range from humour to angst and back again.
1. Death To Our Friends

Death to Our Friends

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

Summary: The words change from visit to visit but the sentiment remains the same.

* * *

Ultimately in life she had achieved nothing. In the end, the toxins that flowed through Pamela's veins began attacking her vital organs and her last days on earth were spent in Arkham's hospital wing withering away in agony; a bruised and comatose Harley lay silently in the bed opposite

Pamela hadn't considered an afterlife. She never expected a university campus on a chilled, overcast day. They told her death was neither a reward nor punishment, but a journey. They told her she had much to learn.

Shortly after her passing, Pamela discovered ways to return to the land of the living. It's always Harley she visits. Harley when she is alone; when Joker has made yet another attempt on her life.

Pamela does not whisper words of comfort or assurances to her dearest friend who sits slumped among bloodied bandages and stares despondently at nothing. Pamela is cruel, and she tells her cursed friend that she is worthless, that she always was, that the world would be a better place without Harley Quinn.

The words change from visit to visit but the sentiment remains the same. There are times when Pamela truly believes that Harley can hear her. Perhaps it is the way Harley's eyes dull when she talks, Pamela can't say for sure.

Her malicious, goading words aren't meant to inflict any real lasting damage. In life Pamela Isley failed to save rainforests that stood proudly for thousands of years. In death, she will not fail to save Harley. To keep Harley safe. Harley was always safest when she was with Pamela.

And if death is but a journey that goes on for the rest of eternity then Pamela doesn't want to be alone for it. Not anymore. She needs Harley and Harley needs her. Preying on Harley's self-doubt and self-esteem is the only option available to her.

The faceless guardians don't pretend to understand her reasoning. They tell her she has much to learn.

Pamela doesn't understand them.


	2. A Beginning and Middle

A Beginning and Middle

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue.

Summary: One day that knock on your door didn't come.

* * *

Every so often she'd come knocking at your door sporting a couple of black eyes, a busted lip and a bloody nose. You never turned her away. Even long after you'd given up hope that she might she sense, you still let her into your home.

You bathed her eyes, cleaned her cuts, all the while muttering words of comfort that had lost their meaning long ago. You don't know why you continued to allow her into your home long after your concern turned into sheer annoyance.

Perhaps it just became part of a never-ending ritual, just another plant that needed replanting; a rose bush that needed pruning. You don't know if you actually saw her as a plant. You can't really say; self-analysis was never your strongest suit.

And then one day that knock on your door didn't come when it should have.

You responded, as you always knew you would, all that frustration and exasperation transformed into a ball of rage and grief in the pit of your stomach.

You tore up Gotham looking for him, and when you found him, the parasite denied killing her. Denied killing Harley. Batman believed him though, just as you always dimly suspected he would.

He even produced evidence that proved Joker's innocence. He even had the audacity to help you look for her.

You didn't find her. He didn't find her.

As time passed and your investigation came to a dead end, you, like everyone else around you, could only conclude that somewhere between Joker's lair and yours, Harley Quinn simply vanished into thin air. She just fell off the face of the earth.

And somehow that was worse than coming across a bloodied corpse.

There was no finality. No closure. The last pages of Harley's biography had been ripped out – and that was grated the most. From that moment on, there would only be wondering and idle speculation

It's only on birthdays and holidays that you allow yourself to think of her, allow yourself to wonder what happened to her.

Sometimes you imagine her as a corpse, rotting in some cranny in Gotham you neglected to check. You don't like that idea, though, it makes you ill to think of it, and so the image never lingers long.

You prefer to see her walking along some road in another county – Australia, maybe. Completely oblivious to all the pain and suffering she's caused. Your pain and suffering. The backpack she's carrying is comically large and she's wearing a silly cork hat to go along with her dopey grin.

And it's that idea that's allowed you to change the sheets in the spare bedroom every week for the past three years. The small hope that one day there will be a knock on your door and it'll be her back from her wanderings. You'll scream and shout at her, claw and kick at her; maybe tell her she hurt you more than Woodrue ever did.

She'll look at you like a kicked puppy. And you'll forgive her on the spot.

You'll tell her you missed her. And that you love her.

And it won't be an ending. It'll be a new beginning.


	3. One Way Track

One Way Track

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue

Summary: You remembered that you could breathe without him.

Author's notes: Companion piece to A Beginning and Middle, might do a sequel for this. I'll see how it goes.

* * *

You were five minutes away from her house when you realised that you couldn't do it anymore. You couldn't smile through bloodied lips, bruised and tear stained eyes, shamelessly ask your dear ol' pal for a place to stay until you got back on your feet.

You couldn't do it anymore; pretend that you didn't notice her disproval, her annoyance, her growing resentment each time she opened that damned door and saw you on her doorstep. And you sure as hell didn't think you could handle the looks she shot you when you went back to him.

So it was on that grey, overcast day where you, filled with so much shame, humiliation and guilt, decided to take the left turn instead.

You shuffled around the city for a few hours, racking your brain trying to think of a place to stay, trying not think of what you did wrong or how you could make it up to him – how you would never do it again.

Eventually, you remembered the old hideout on Jefferson Lane. You didn't expect to discover the money stashed in the old mattress. When you did, you remember thinking how wonderful it would be to get out of Gotham for a while, find a place where you didn't have to think about Batman, about costumes, about henchmen, guns; or anything else to do with your life as a rogue.

You have not been back to Gotham since.

You didn't intend for it to be that way, but as those two weeks in Hawaii came to a close, it slowly dawned on you, that you didn't miss him as much and that you didn't think of him as much. Those sage words of advice and wisdom given to you from countless psychiatrists, acquaintances and friends that had once fallen upon deaf ears suddenly started to have some weight attached to them.

For reasons unknown to yourself at the time, you extended your vacation and you booked a flight to Nepal.

It was during your second week there, and you were half way up Kangchenjunga when you remembered that you could breathe without him, that you wouldn't blink out of existance without him. It was a greater thrill than reaching the peak of any mountain on earth, the greatest rush you have known, probably will ever know.

You can't pinpoint the exact moment where the extended vacation became your life and not a break from your costumed identity. It wasn't when you hung upside down on Kangchenjunga, or as you raced across the plains of Botswana, screaming at the top of your lungs, your heart hammering in your chest as the pride of lions gained ground on you; you were so alive that day despite your fear.

Perhaps there was no moment at all, no split second realization that you were no longer living your life for emotionally distant parents, disinterested gymnastics coaches, or more importantly – him.

You're living your life for you, getting up when you want, doing whatever you want, however you want, with whoever you want. It is the most glorious thing you have ever known, you never expected life could be this way.

You have long since accepted that you were ill. The hows or whys of your illness are no longer important to you. There are many versions of how you fell nestled away in your head, intertwining, contradicting one another, changing from moment to moment; each one is as real to you as the next.

It does not matter how you became Harley Quinn. All that matters is that you are no longer Harley Quinn; you are you, and that is the greatest thing in the world. Not the sights you have seen, the people you've met, and the things you have done since.

You're not stupid though. You can't really claim that you are no longer insane. You haven't seen him since that fateful day and you don't want to. You are frightened that a switch will flip in your brain and you'll turn into a pillar of salt; everything you've become in these last three years, snuffed out in seconds.

Sometimes when you are alone and there is nothing left to think about, your mind goes down this path and you are filled with fear and almost paralysed with anxiety, the worst of it fades within an hour but traces of it still linger, like a phantom limb; and you spend the next few days constantly looking over your shoulder, fully expecting to see crimson red lips and yellowed crooked teeth in the shape of a smile.

It is for that reason you have not returned to Gotham, or been in touch with anyone from Gotham since you left. Sometimes you can't go back.

You're well aware that if it hadn't been for people like Ivy, Batman, and others you wouldn't be alive today and you'd like to write them a letter, thanking them for everything they did for you, how you will always be grateful for what they tried to do for you – what they did for you.

Especially Ivy. There are many things you'd like to tell her and say to her. But you can't and you won't, lest those letters fall into the wrong hands.

Besides, given the cold, hard nature of Gotham City and its inhabitants, you're not sure that they'd want to read your inept words of gratitude, or even care to know how you were doing. You're not sure that you wouldn't be wasting ink.

So you don't.


	4. Undoing the Past

Undoing the Past

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue

Disclaimer: Poison Ivy had few regrets in her life.

* * *

Poison Ivy had few regrets in her life. She didn't really believe in them. In her mind at least, mistakes were part and parcel of life and they should be looked on as learning experiences. It was pointless brooding over what could and couldn't be changed, what should and shouldn't have been done.

The past couldn't be undone, regretting that fact was a pointless exercise in futility as far as Ivy was concerned.

However, even though Ivy felt this way, she couldn't help having a couple regrets concerning certain matters.

Certainly, if she got to do it all over again, then she wouldn't have broken into that music shop – violins made from rare wood or not

And she sure as hell wouldn't have allowed Harley to take that goddamned banjo either.


	5. Teddy Bear

Teddy Bear

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them

Summary: The battle had been lost before it had even begun.

* * *

Ivy sighed, already knowing that the battle had been lost before it had even started. "Harl," she began. "Harl, it's time to get up."

"Zombie bugs," came the muffled reply originating from her chest.

"What? No! Harley! I have to get up now, c'mon; I've got things I need to be getting on with."

Harley made a contented coo and buried her head into Ivy's neck, drawing her impossibly closer, completely oblivious to her partner's grunts of protest. It was times like these that made Ivy wonder if Harley even lived in the same house as that bastard clown.

Ivy screwed her eyes shut, partly out of exasperation, partly out of annoyance. If she'd known way back then that mornings were going to be like this she wouldn't have given Harley that strength enhancing serum. Really, what had she been thinking?

With a grunt, Ivy pushed her weight against the arms of steel that so lovingly kept her captive to no avail. It was all so pointless. She could scream, but Ivy doubted that even Black Canary could wake Harley from her slumber and the last time she had tried to fight her way out from the much loathed, one-sided morning snuggles, Harley had ended up on the floor with a bruised stomach and had gone running back to Joker the very same day.

And Ivy didn't even want to even think about calling on her babies to assist her. Not after what happened the last time…especially after that last time.

Repressing a shudder at the memory, Ivy racked her brains trying to think a way out of her predicament and came up with nothing. In the past she'd tried whispering seductively in Harley's ear, tried imitating Joker's voice, claimed that the aforementioned bastard had come to pick her up, declared that an alien invasion was underway…

And nothing.

Harley might as well have been made of stone – until late morning at any rate.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Ivy had already overslept, and unlike some people, she had a million and one things to do before noon. Urgent matters of life and death that required her immediate attention, and there was certainly nothing on that to-do-list that included watching abysmal daytime television - or snacking for that matter.

Glumly, Ivy leaned into the unwanted cuddle and stared gloomily at the glass of water that stood so invitingly, and so out-of-reach on the bedside table. _It wasn't fair._

"I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. Nobody else has to put up with this nonsense," Ivy muttered, lethargically stroking Harley's back.

"Zombie puppies," Harley agreed.


	6. Over and Over

Over and Over

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue.

Summary: Harley found it strange that it hurt more when Ivy did it to her.

* * *

Harley found it strange that it hurt more when Ivy did it to her. Not that it didn't hurt when Mistah J did it to her, when he left her behind it was a punch to the stomach every time; leaving her breathless and stunned, unable to figure out what had just happened or even notice that the bat cuffs were all ready on her.

But it still hurt more when Ivy did it.

Harley couldn't really figure out why. She loved Joker more than Ivy and that was the absolute truth of the matter. She knew it, Mistah J knew it, Ivy knew it; everybody goddamn well knew it.

So why then did Ivy's constant abandonment hurt her more? Leaving her feeling worthless and despondent, so much so, that the gloom that immediately descended down upon her would only began to lift after a few weeks. When Joker left her to the tender mercies of the law, she'd be right back to her old self within a couple hours; laughing, smiling, cracking jokes with grim, unresponsive guards.

Surely it should've been the other way around.

The scenario was interchangeable: she, Ivy or Mistah J would be in the middle of something, Batman would show up, Harley would take him on and inevitably get her ass handed to her – she wasn't half the fighter that Batsy was, she could admit that much – and while this was happening, Ivy or Joker decided to get the hell out of dodge.

It was weird…

But as Harley sat in her dim cell pondering over it, it finally came to her.

At least when Joker ran for it he always looked back. Ivy never did. No pity, no sorrow, no guilt, no regret; no acknowledgement of Harley's existence or that she had even figured into the plan; had even meant anything to her.

Ivy never looked back…

But Joker did…even if it was only to laugh at her.

And in Harley's mind that counted for something at least.


	7. Tripped

Tripped

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Dont own them. Dont sue

Summary: Post Countdown A/U. It was Holly that she'd been thinking of when she had stormed out of the apartment. H/I, H/H.

* * *

She'd only gone out for a walk to get a bit of air, to get away from all the snide putdowns Selina Kyle kept firing in her direction. To get out of the apartment before it turned nasty; before Harley said something she would simultaneously regret and be proud of.

It was Holly that she had been thinking of when she'd stormed out of there. Harley had only wanted to save her from being in an awkward position; save her from the embarrassment that Harley knew she had been reeling from even though she hadn't shown it.

Harley had only meant to be gone for an hour, enough time for things to calm down, for Catwoman to get over herself. She hadn't meant for it for to happen.

It'd been an accident. She hadn't been thinking. Just one of those things. A mistake.

It had been pure chance that she'd run into Ivy on the corner of Fifth Avenue, she hadn't been thinking when Ivy had all but demanded that they caught up over coffee, and Harley had caved like a cardboard box in a thunderstorm.

It had always been next to impossible to deny Ivy anything, objecting to a simple cup of coffee seemed silly. It wasn't like she'd agreed to a robbery, or a murder, or any thing else on the wrong side of the law.

It was just a cup of coffee. Nothing more.

And it had been nice. Real nice. Nice to see Ivy so well; so well, and so much saner than the last time they'd met. Nice just to talk to another human being and not have the fact that she'd been sick in the head, or the fact that she couldn't hold down a job that at one time she might have looked down upon constantly thrown in her face.

It'd been like stepping into a pair of comfy old shoes, familiar and not unpleasantly surprising. And maybe this was where Harley had screwed up. Maybe she should have headed for home after the coffee. Maybe she shouldn't have let Ivy talk her into going for cocktails even though she'd never been that much of a drinker.

Harley had only wanted to hear more about Ivy's time with the Injustice League, wanted to see Ivy do more impressions of Luthor and Killer Frost. It was the instant re-connection that did it, the heady nostalgia. It was real, it was there, and it hadn't been that maddening, impenetrable fog that surrounded the East End Trinity. The fog that kept her separate, an outsider.

It'd been a mistake. A simple drunken mistake.

Harley had never been able to handle her liquor, and she didn't know what she was doing when Ivy merrily placed a stabilizing arm around her shoulder and guided Harley back to her hideout and into her bed.

She hadn't known what she was doing. It had been Holly that she'd been thinking of when she'd stormed out of the apartment. Holly's feelings and no one else's.

The problem was Harley didn't have an excuse to cling to when she went back to Ivy's hideout two days later, or the day after that, or the day after that, or the day after that.


	8. Hunger

Hunger

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue.

Summary: Be careful of what you wish for. **Prompt: Enhanced taste.**

* * *

_ And your wish shall be granted, said The Spirit of the Blood Lily._

Ivy hadn't heard the spirit speak at the time. She'd been too preoccupied with fending off the remaining temple guards. Despite her wealth of talents, physical combat had never been her strongest suit and it had taken her a little longer to dispatch the temples guardians who'd so rudely surrounded them at the last moment.

It hadn't been Harleys fault; even Ivy could see that in the end. Harley hadn't vocalized the wish, hadn't even realised she'd made one. Imagining how wonderful it would be to have a special ability in order to impress that psychotic clown of hers was no crime.

It might have been pure idiocy, but it hadn't been a crime.

At first it had been funny. Watching Harley cough, splutter and dance around the campfire like a cartoon character after she'd put that first spoonful of food into her mouth that evening had been a hoot. It'd been a justice of sorts. Justice for a wasted trip; justice for an idiotic blunder that had ruined months of careful planning and preparation.

And then after a couple few days it became apparent that Harley couldn't eat anything. Even bland foods like rice cakes or bananas would cause her to double over in pain, her choked sobs as she forced the offending items down had ran through Ivy like a chainsaw hitting bark

It was around about that time it stopped being funny.

There was only so many ways that one could say: "Dont worry, I'll find a cure", as their best friend wasted away in front of their eyes before it lost all meaning.


	9. Three Little Words

Three Little Words

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: DC owns everything.

* * *

Harley knows that Ivy can't say it. Can't say those three little words, which when said in the right order just happen to make Harley's heart sing and turn her insides into mush. Three little words that would make Harley Quinn the happiest clown in the entire western hemisphere.

She isn't broken up about it. After all, Joker couldn't say them either. Neither could Guy at first, but then Guy had problems even before things went down like they did.

The Mistress of Mischief isn't stupid. She was a psychiatrist; Ivy's psychiatrist for a short time. Harley has seen the files; read the excuses, the reasons all laid out for anyone with the appropriate qualifications to see. She knows why Ivy can't say those three little words.

She also knows there's no such person as Poison Ivy. There's a Pamela Isley, but that's a discussion that'll never see the light of day.

"I love you, Red." Harley says with a quick kiss as Ivy passes her in the hallway.

Ivy turns and looks at her, a small smile tugging at her lips and for a split second Harley swears that she sees a light flicker in those emerald eyes. A quick hand reaches out and strokes the younger woman's face.

Someday, Harley thinks as Ivy turns away, she's gonna sit Pammy down and get it drilled into that thick skull of hers that Harley Quinn is not Jason Woodrue.

But that day is far, far away and it isn't urgent anyway. Harley knows that Ivy loves her and it's enough.

After all, actions speak louder than words.


	10. Indestructible

Indestructible

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

* * *

Ivy hates twenty-four hour news channels.

She thinks that since their emergence, humans, if it were possible, have become even more ignorant than before. Like they can't think for themselves anymore, can't form an opinion on anything unless some corny anchor is giving them one.

She hates news channels. Despises the irony of their name. Loathes the way they've contributed to destruction of attention spans everywhere and replaced news with sensationalism; logic with hysteria.

It doesn't stop her watching them. Not always.

Lex News is reporting that Harley was killed alongside the rest of Joker's henchman two hours ago in a firework factory that went up when gunshots were fired; Joker is back in Arkham; fire fighters from several districts are still trying to put the blaze out; people from four different neighbourhoods are being evacuated.

Stonily, quietly and as still as a redwood, Ivy watches it all. Hysterical evictees. Talking heads who still don't have all the facts just yet and can only speculate.

Former friends of Harley, full of false remorse and pity. Their eyes reddened with artificial tears and voices quivering with practiced ease.

Clips of Harley, back when she was still a doctor, being interviewed about the opening of a new ward at Arkham. Even back then there was a sparkle of mischief in those bright baby blues.

Ivy watches it all. The tinny overly loud music and so-called experts that know even less than the anchors. Ivy watches it all, silent as a belladonna, allowing a wisp of pity into her heart as reporters and camera crews lay siege to the house of the woman who brought Harley into the world. It is gone as soon as the segment ends.

Softly, Ivy gets to her feet and switches the television off. She is unaffected by everything she has just seen, perhaps in another life and another time she might have believed every word, fallen apart, cried until she had no more tears left to shed.

But she is not Pamela anymore. She is not weak and does not break over speculation. Over drama. Over entertainment. Over hysteria. Over ratings wars.

Ivy will being seeing Harley again very soon. A little burnt around the edges perhaps, but she would be alive and full of jokes and quips and fun. There was no doubt in Ivy's mind. No doubt at all.

How did the joke go? The world ends and the last remaining survivors are Superman and Harley Quinn...

Ivy knows she will be seeing Harley sooner rather than later. The next few hours maybe.

She is not in denial.


	11. A Dark Place

A Dark Place

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them

Summary: Malls can be scary places.

* * *

"You don't hafta come, Red."

Ivy twiddled with her seatbelt for what seemed to be the hundredth time and cast yet another nervous gaze around the half-empty parking lot.

"S'okay," Harley soothed gently, taking great care not to slip into her '_doctor voice'_. "I mean, I know how much you hate these places and there ain't no point in being somewhere you hate. So why don't you head on back home and I'll see ya there."

Ivy attempted a smile, but to Harley it looked more like a grimace.

"I mean it, Pammy." Harley coaxed. "Just pop on back home. The kids'll probably be wonderin' where their water is."

"Don't be silly, Harley." Ivy replied quietly, giving Harley's hand a quick squeeze, her eyes never leaving the object of her ire. "You need a new coat for winter – and you actually do need one," an anxious chuckle escaped from her lips. "So here we are."

Harley bit her lip. For all the time they'd spending sitting in the godforsaken lot, they could have bought fifty winter coats and been home by now.

"Red," she tried again. "I buy stuff for myself all the time. Why not take the car back home and I'll get the bus back or somethin'."

Another nervous chuckle spewed forth from Ivy's lips. "No."

Harley turned and looked at her lover. "Why not, Red?"

"Because I don't trust you," Ivy replied, in a tone that was way too high. "Because you'll come back with a trampoline."

"No, I won't."

"Yes you will!" Ivy snarled hotly. "Dammit, Harley! Why are you always raping the planet? Why are you always raping the planet and buying junk that you don't need, or even know that you wanted until you saw the commercial?"

"Character flaw, I guess." Harley replied quietly.

"This is so silly," Ivy said shakily, moving her hand toward the door handle then pulling it back as if it had been burned. "For the love of Gaia, it's a shopping mall! Millions of people go to them everyday."

"Yeah."

"Last month you spent a week in the rainforests of Borneo with me and you only started crying on the last day."

"That's right."

Ivy took one long look at the building that symbolised everything that was wrong with human nature and forced down a wave of hysteria bubbling at the back of her throat. "This is so silly."

Harley sighed, looked at her watch again and hoped to god that Dr. Crane never found out about this.


	12. Made New Again

Made New Again

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

* * *

It ends in the middle of a thunderstorm at the end of the world. A spell is lifted much too late and with it comes the horrible comprehension of a crime that will never be washed clean.

The burning wind and the dry rain mutes broken sobs, half-shattered declarations of love and mad, shrieking laughter that ends almost as soon as it begins. The apocalypse cannot dull the brilliant white silence ringing in her ears.

Kind hands half-drag, half-carry the woman away, deaf to her pleas. Two bloody corpses; faces whitened in death as in they were in life remain.

A bright, beautiful man with rotted teeth and sliced eyes approaches. He smiles.

The world fades to orange…

And Ivy wakes up in her cell screaming unable to stop.

And at the senior staff meeting Dr. Quinzel suggests several changes to the weekly rota.

And in the back of his cell Joker laughs and declares war.


	13. Kicking It Old School

Kicking It Old School

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them

Summary: Harley isn't forgetful.

* * *

"Just so we're clear," Ivy began tiredly. "The twenty million dollars is definitely around here somewhere, you just can't remember where exactly."

Bright blue, remorseful eyes peered back up at her through blonde bangs. "That's right, Red."

Ivy closed her eyes, wincing as several muscles in her neck began to spasm.

"It ain't my fault," defended Harley. "I wrote it all down in my notebook…and I just kinda…I dunno what I did with it, Red."

"Uh-huh."

"Hey," Harley said brightly, "At least I didn't pick Robinson Park, right?"

"What possessed you, Harl?" Ivy asked, suddenly sounding very far away. "Why did you do this?"

Harley looked at the other woman as if she were simple. "It was Talk Like A Pirate Day, Pammy."

Ivy gave the briefest of nods. "Of course, how silly of me."

"S'okay," Harley said kindly. "I know you ain't up ta speed when it comes ta popular culture."

"Did you mark the spot with an X?" Ivy enquired in that same far away voice.

Harley clucked her tongue and chuckled. "Woulda been kinda stupid doin' that."

"Why, yes, yes it would have." Ivy muttered. "Forgive me, Harl. I seem to have left my brain back at the house."

"S'alright," Harley grinned. "It happens ta me too sometimes."

Ivy cast a sweeping gaze around twenty acres of wild farmland and heaved a sigh.

"Okay," The May Queen groaned, her grip around the spade in her hand tightening painfully as she began to head out. "Let's just get this over with."


	14. Night Release

Night Release

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

It was almost as if she were asleep. If Harley concentrated hard enough she could block out the bleeping heart monitor, the sickening whirr of the ventilator, the overwhelming smell of disinfectant.

Harley had never really looked at Ivy when she was sleeping before; never bothered to consider the shadow of innocence that clung to her brow despite everything. Just another idea that never occurred to her. Time was up in the air now; everything that lay ahead of them, now nothing more than a distant possibility in a world of dark outcomes.

The blonde leaned forward in her chair, its creaking groan of protest too loud to her ears. "I miss ya, Pammy," she said simply. Days of heartbreak and wretchedness rolled into one single sentence. "Come back soon, it's no fun without ya."

There was no answer but Harley hadn't been expecting one. She'd long since come to understand and accept that expectations and reality rarely met on the same level.

Minutes ticked by unnoticed by the two women. The sudden dark hand on her orange clad shoulder was a blank note in Harley's numb mind.

"Quinn," he started, not unkindly. "It's time to go back to Arkham."

Harley half-turned, her hand tightening around Ivy's limp fingers. "I don't wanna go."

His own hand tightened firmly, but not painfully. "Harley, the police are here."

She turned back to Ivy; a million things she wished to say dying silently on her lips. Hesitantly settling for a chaste kiss to the unconscious woman's forehead and gathering up a past that would come to naught, she stood slowly, shakily, managing nothing more than a quick nod of assent to the vigilante.

His grip on her shoulder relaxed, his eyes as compassionate as they ever could be, he wordlessly lead her away from a room full of dead flowers that would never be seen, cards which would never be read, and fruitless fruits that would forever go uneaten.


	15. Less Than Paper

Less Than Paper

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

* * *

They've been together six months without the interruption of Arkham or Joker. A new record for them. An anniversary of sorts. Not that Ivy has been needy enough to count, or would even want to celebrate something as human or trivial or pathetic as an anniversary.

If anything she wants Harley gone and her life back.

She wants to work, uninterrupted, in her makeshift lab, labour tirelessly over a cause greater than herself. Ivy wants to enslave worthless men with the aid of a kiss and not feel the heat of jealous eyes on her back.

She wants not to wake up to a house of chaos and not think anything of it; indulge in petty gossip; have discussions concerning immaterial matters.

She is Poison Ivy.

A goddess made flesh. She is divine. She is The May Queen, both servant and mistress to every plant that thrives on planet Earth. She is their mother, their chosen warrior, their champion, their end and their beginning. Her kingdom is great; one day greater.

With Harley she is less than that. Time spent with the human is less time spent reaching her goals, each moment of shared laughter is a cutting betrayal, and every second spent in her arms is an absence from the battlefield.

A locust is in her bed.

And yet, she will do nothing.

She is nothing less than a traitor. Forever betraying herself.


	16. Getting into the Spirit

Getting into the Spirit

By

Cold Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own. No profit. Don't sue.

* * *

The large parcel was childishly wrapped up in cheap paper and shabby masking tape. The tag, covered in green and red crayon, was completely illegible to Ivy's usually observant eyes. Slowly - and not without a little trepidation - Ivy looked up from the unexpected gift that had been unceremoniously dumped onto her lap.

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

"It's your Pre-Christmas present." Harley beamed happily.

"My Pre-Christmas present," Ivy repeated dumbly.

"That's right, Red!" Harley exclaimed happily, stretching her arms excitedly for emphasis. "It's our new tradition."

"New tradition? Harley, we don't have any traditions," Ivy pointed out patiently. "If anything the only tradition we have this time of year is a tussle with Batman and a short stay in Arkham – and this Christmas I'd rather not observe it, thank you very much."

"Tsk, tsk," Harley cheerfully chided. "Now, that's no way ta think, Pammy. It'll be different this year, you'll see."

Ivy stared at her favourite human through hooded eyes. "Is that right?"

"It is!" Harley chuckled and nodded toward the gift. "Open it, it's the end ta all our problems, Pammy."

Ivy examined the awkwardly wrapped package once more. Not knowing whether to be mildly grateful for Harley's generosity, or suspicious of the blonde's motives. It'd been a while since Harley had played a practical joke at her expense – or had at least tried to. Ivy didn't think that the clown would try to pull another prank so soon after her last botched attempt –or the icy warning that she'd received immediately after.

But then again, common sense had never been one of Harley's strong points.

"It ain't gonna open itself, ya know," Harley teased.

"Maybe that's a good thing," Ivy remarked quietly. "Less likely to explode in someone's face that way."

"Oh come on, Red!" Harley whined, crossing the room and placing a hand on Ivy's forearm. "It ain't April! Christmas is no laughing matter."

Ivy grunted, allowing a small smile to spread across her face. "Alright," she said quietly, surrendering to her friend's earnest enthusiasm for the ridiculous holiday. "Thank you."

Harley's eyes shone with joy. "I held onto the receipt in case you don't like it."

Ivy's smile widened as she tried to imagine herself doing something so pathetically common as walking into a store and demanding a refund. "That won't be necessary, Harl. I'm sure I'll love whatever it is."

"Well then," Harley began as she flopped herself onto the couch next to Ivy. "There's only one way ta be sure," she said, grinning goofily at her best friend. "Open it."

Ivy looked at her quizzically. "And this is going to keep out us out of Arkham?"

Harley nodded, thrilled that Ivy was getting into the Pre-Christmas spirit. "For a while, I guess."

"Is it a lifetime supply of pills that'll temporarily cure incompetence?" Ivy joked, her eyes dancing merrily.

"Wow. That's harsh, Red," Harley said sombrely. "I don't think you're incompetent," she laughed, narrowly avoiding a flying cushion.

"You're hysterical."

"I try ta be."

"Try," Ivy smirked. "Being the key word here."

Harley clutched her chest and slumped back into her seat. "Ya got me."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Ivy remarked smoothly.

"Guess not," Harley replied lightly. "Now, open your present or I'll hafta do it for ya."

Ivy frowned and looked at the gift once more, turning it around in her hands, examining every corner and every crease in the paper. She gave it a shake.

"Pammy," Harley began impatiently. "In case you didn't know, it's for this year."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got me plane tickets," Ivy mused, ignoring her partner's rapidly changing mood.

"Plane tickets?" Harley wrinkled her nose, "I must have got jumbo-sized ones."

"Appearances can be deceptive," Ivy replied lightly.

"Maybe they are," Harley said softly. "I could have given ya Bat-repellent, though."

Ivy sighed. "If only."

Harley playfully nudged her best friend and wordlessly Ivy began to tear away the green and gold paper, her face the very picture of hopeful expectation. Harley greedily drank in the moment, solidifying the precious seconds and then branding them into an album of happy memories.

"How many trees died for this, Harl?" Ivy asked, as yet another layer of wrapping paper was peeled away and cast aside.

"None," Harley answered cheerfully. "The paper's recycled."

Ivy grunted in disbelief and tore away the last remaining layers of gaudy paper irritably. Harley squealed as her gift was revealed.

"A box set of James Stewart movies," Ivy looked at her incredulously. "You gave me a box set of James Stewart movies."

Harley looked smug. "Yup."

Ivy was appalled. "How's this going to keep us out of Arkham?"

"Easy," Harley said with a shrug. "We're stayin' in and stayin' out of trouble this year."


End file.
